“What’s going on, Lord R-W?” said a shrill voice. It was Lady Rader-Wellorff, who had appeared through the bushes with a number of guests from the casino.
“Can’t make it out, Lady R-W. Barrington doesn’t seem to want to take his shot!”
“Doesn’t want to? But I thought you said you liked guns?”
“I did, but…” Barry didn’t know what to say. His arms were killing him, and all these people were watching, and he could feel the other children smirking at him.
“Hmm. Not really a son of mine so far, it seems,” said Lord Rader-Wellorff. “OK, Jeremy, Teremy, Meremy, Heremy, Queremy, Smellemy, Sea Anemone and Dave: fill your boots!!”
Barry wasn’t sure what that meant – most of them did have wellingtons on, but they were full of their feet already – but it soon became clear that what it meant, basically, was shoot the bird!! Because they all started aiming very, very intently towards it. With every ounce of strength he had left, Barry then did something which, to be honest, he hadn’t been expecting to do.
He stepped in front of the bird and shouted: “Put your guns down!!”
Everyone froze and looked confused. Barry could hear the flapping of the grouse above his head.
“Pardon, Barrington?” said Lady Rader-Wellorff.
“I said, put your guns down. Let the bird go!”
In Barry’s mind, this sentence was meant to be accompanied by a smooth, James Bond-like move of the Bessie up to his shoulder, and then an even smoother sweep of it around in a semi-circle, to protect the bird. Unfortunately, it was actually accompanied by him swinging the barrel up to his face, hitting himself on the chin and falling over backwards.
In fact, it would be truer to say that he went: “I said, put your guns down. Let the 
The children all looked at each other. Slowly, Barry picked himself up from the ground, using the Bessie less as a gun and more as a crutch.
And then Jeremy swung his gun towards Barry and said, “Why should we do that?” At which point, all the other children swung their guns towards Barry as well.
“Children! No!” said Lady Rader-Wellorff.
“Now, now!” said Lord Rader-Wellorff.
“Oops…” said Peevish.
But the guns of the other children remained trained on him. Barry felt the sweat breaking out on his forehead. He felt terrified and very, very tired, all at the same time, a combination he hadn’t before known was possible. He looked over to the crowd of people watching and suddenly seemed to see the two servants – the man and woman, the ones with familiar voices – who had been standing by when he had arrived. They were looking at him with concern on their faces… their familiar faces. With concern. With hope. And with something else that Barry couldn’t quite name.
He heard a click.
It was Jeremy or rather Jeremy’s gun. Barry knew that time was running out. He felt something against his leg. He looked down. It was his bucket of chips: 36 million pounds’ worth.
His legs, at least, had a tiny bit of strength left in them, so he kicked out – out and up, like Lionel Messi might have done when aiming for a free kick that needed to go up and over the wall – and the bucket rose above them all…
turning over and over, almost in slow motion…
… and spilling 36 million pounds of chips into the air.
Immediately, Jeremy, Teremy, Meremy, Heremy, Queremy, Smellemy, Sea Anemone and Dave dropped their guns and started rushing all over the field, arms outstretched, trying to catch the falling chips. As did all the guests and all the servants – apart from the oddly familiar two, who seemed to have vanished – and indeed Peevish.
The grouse – which suddenly seemed to understand what was best for it – opened its wings and flew away, high over the trees.
Barry looked round. Standing there, looking crestfallen, were Lord and Lady Rader-Wellorff.
“Hmm,” said Lord Rader-Wellorff. “That didn’t go quite according to plan, did it? Still. Anything else we can do for you, Barrington?”
“Yes,” said Barry. “I’d like to go back to the Parent Agency, please.”